Midnight Scribbles
by AlyssaLucyAnne
Summary: What if a lost notebook had brought Castle and Beckett together a long time before season 1?
1. Chapter 1

**Midnight Scribbles**

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**AN: This is basically an AU story of Caskett's first meeting set in 2004. It should be about 4 chapters and I really hope you like it.**

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**To Ema, my motivational monkey.**

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_A midnight scribble,_

_A morning sigh,_

_You watch the words,_

_Curl up and die_

**_Michael Faudet_**

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She feels the soft clatter of wheels on rails through the cold plastic of the seat underneath her. It is hypnotizing, calming and she loves the feeling of the soothing vibrations of the subway, likes the hard edges of the seats, and the smell of people, smoke and this distinct scent of New York that dominates in the wagons.

Few people accompany her ride this morning, yet the air is filled with chatter, people talking to each other, two teenage girls fighting over a boy, who appears to have kissed them both, an elderly couple across from her is holding hands and talking about what will be for dinner. She likes taking it all in, listening to the people around her. Strangers, people she will never meet again and that have no idea who she is, likes to disappear in the broad mass of New York for just a while and enjoys the feeling of being but a mere drop in a huge ocean.

She watches the darkness of the tunnels passing by through the wide windows opposite from her. It's a thick, velvety darkness and she meets her own reflection in the glass. She notices the dark circles underneath her eyes, notices the fatigue that is pouring out of them and releases a heavy sigh. She should sleep more.

She breaks her gaze as the darkness outside grows lighter and lighter until it finally dissolves into the blazing lights of the nearing station.

She hears the doors opening to both of her sides, hears the beeping sound that accompanies them and hears the groups of people that enter and depart from the train.

Just as the subway starts moving again, gaining speed almost immediately, a little boy drops down on the bench across from hers. He smiles at her, a wide, gap- toothed grin and she can't help but smile back at him. A woman comes and sits down next to him, carrying a small child buried in her arms, bouncing the small bundle gently as to keep the child asleep through the bumpy ride.

"Can I have chocolate?" the little boy asks her, eyes opened widely, brown eyes pleading with his mother and Beckett has to stifle the smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"When we are home" the woman says tiredly. The boy shoves his lower lip forwards, resulting in an adorable pout but doesn't ask again, before he turns his attention towards Beckett.

His eyes travel from her black, high-heeled shoes on the floor, up to her face that is framed by pixie cut hair, sizing her up, observing her with curiosity shining in his dark brown orbs until his attention gets caught on the glowing gold metal resting on her hip.

"You a cop?" he asks, his eyes sparkling with the obvious fascination he has for the woman in front of him.

"Jimmy" his mother scolds him, giving him a silent look, which makes him duck his head and look at his feet, suddenly shy.

"I'm sorry" the woman turns her attention to Beckett "he is a really curious kid."

"That is quite alright" she shrugs and turns her attention to the small boy, who is blinking up at her "And yes I am a cop"

A huge smile starts to spread on his face at her response and he immediately sits up straighter, dangling his feet excitedly from his seat.

"So you gonna arrest somebody now?"

She smiles at him openly now, barely suppressing the laugh that threatens to spill free at the kids excitement.

"No, I'm actually on my way back to the precinct now."

The boy nods earnestly, pulling his lip between his teeth, pondering on his next question when the train arrives at a new station.

"Time to get home Jimmy" his mother says, already standing up. He looks at her with an expression of shock, wide eyes shifting between his mom and the cop on the bench until he slips off his seat and reaches out his hand for Beckett to take.

"It was nice meeting you"

She is taken aback for only a moment until she takes the offered hand and replies.

"Yeah you too"

The boy smiles at her, pride beaming from his tiny frame until he turns around and skips towards the door, towards home.

She leans back against the backrest again, left alone with her thoughts once again and lets her eyes travel towards the ceiling.

Colored blotches of spray fill the otherwise grey texture of the ceiling and she lets her eyes wander through her wagon, over the heads of people next to her, the bright colored posters over the windows, advertising new glasses and insurance companies, over to the empty bench to her right.

There's a tattered newspaper on the floor, reading yesterday's headlines and a small black book lying underneath it. It looks like a notebook and before she knows what she's doing she gets up from her seat and moves to the neighbor seats, picking up the small book as she sits down once again.

The book is wrapped in leather, soft from being held, opened and closed many times before and she traces the soft texture of the book with her fingertips before she opens it.

The first page is blank but as she flips it she is met with a black bordure, framing four words written in a loopy handwriting, black ink on the white page.

_Property of Richard Castle._

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**So, what do you think? **


	2. Chapter 2

She desperately tries not to think about the notebook safely stacked away in the bag, resting against her desk in the bullpen. She doesn't even know why she has taken it with her in the first place, but somehow she just couldn't leave the book in the train, going nowhere, could not bear the thought that somehow his thoughts might get lost forever.

Because of course she had recognized the name, written in swirling black letters on the second page.

_Richard Castle._

She can still recall the first time she has ever seen his name. It had been in late January 1999 in her dorm room, written in red capital letters on a book.

_Hell Hath No Fury _

_By the No. 1 Bestselling Author Richard Castle._

Her roommate had left it on the couch, the bookmark still in place somewhere in the middle of it and Beckett had gone to pick it up, her first intention only to place it back on the bookshelf, but had instead found herself reading the backside info, the short block quotes, praising his previous work and eventually ended up taking the book back to her own room, reading it through the night.

Quite frankly, it had been horrible.

The plotline thin, the whole murder case transparent and the killer obvious from the beginning, yet there had been something about his words, about the way he had told this tale of angry wiccans, homicide, crime and the brilliant investigators that had captivated her, and just for a moment, had allowed her to forget her mother's death and the unresolved mystery around her murder.

She had gone to the bookstore that next day, right over to the crime section and had picked up all the other books they currently carried by him; finding that his other works were better, stronger somehow, and that they all held this tendency to grab her, engulf her and never let her go again.

She had spent the following days reading, getting lost in his words over and over again; carried through those stories like a pebble in a steady stream, unable to escape the pull of his stories, of his words that held her captured in an endless dance throughout the pages.

There is a faint sound at the edges of her awareness that pulls her from the depths of her memories and she notices Royce gesticulating at her, wearing an annoyed expression and signing her to get over to the interrogation box.

It takes a couple of seconds before his words cut through to her.

"We've got a new suspect Becks. You're up now"

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She releases a heavy sigh when her apartment's door finally falls closed behind her and all but tumbles towards the couch, slipping out of her heels, leaving them scattered across the floor as she drops down onto the soft cushions.

It's almost midnight and the day has been entirely too long; the talk to the victim's family, the desperate sadness radiating from their faces and the endless interrogations have left a faint throbbing behind her temple and she can feel the first pulling sensations of an upcoming headache.

She reaches out for her bag, pulls out a still cool bottle of water and takes a small sip, the fresh, crystalline water doing nothing to ease the pain, but she is honestly beyond tired, and definitely not up to searching for some Aspirin at the moment.

She pulls up the fluffy, blue blanket lying to her feet, wraps it around her body and relishes in the warmth it provides her with.

Her eyes travel across the room, unsteady and unseeing until the ultimately get caught on the black edges sticking out from behind the folders in her bag; the black edges of a notebook, whose contours she by now knows far too well, having traced and pictured its features multiple times that day.

Before she knows what she is doing she reaches out her hand, her fingers grasping at the leathery fabric of the book cover as she pulls it out and rests it on her propped up legs.

Her fingertips wander along the book spine, tracing its creases and tattered edges before she carefully opens the lid once again.

She just flips through the pages, careful not to rip or tear out a page, yet never really remaining on one page to actually read what is written there, just grasping random phrases and notes, the movement of her fingers hesitant, tender even as they skim through the worn out pages.

It seems to be a book of all things. A calendar, a journal, a notebook, filled with plotlines, random thoughts and quotes, of which neither seem to have any connection whatsoever. A notebook filled with the scribbles of her favorite author.

She notices the subtle changes in his handwriting, notices how it seems to change depending on where and when it was written down. There are the sloppy, almost illegible scrawls, that seem to have been written down while being outside, in a haste maybe, random occurrences and quotes he must have come up with while being on the train, in a café or elsewhere. Then there are the scribbled down appointments, dinner plans, schedules and meetings, and then there is the loopy and slanted, yes almost cursive way he writes down the name Alexis, almost lovingly, as if the name were something precious.

It is somewhere in the core of the book when her eyes get caught on a page filled with pictures that, according to the date written in the upper right corner, have been taken 4 months ago.

The photographs seem to be from a photo booth, three pictures in a row, every single of them showing a different image. They all show a handsome man with brown hair in a black shirt, and even in the pictures she notices his incredibly blue eyes, beaming with pride and sheer happiness upon looking at a small red-headed girl sitting across his lap, both of them making faces and posing for the camera. Kate estimates the girl to be about nine or ten years old, and from the random notes she has read in the book she guesses that she must be his daughter, Alexis.

She feels the smile tucking in the corners of her mouth, her lips curling upwards inadvertently; there is such joy radiating from those few photos, their smiles so vibrant she can almost imagine the peals of their laughter drifting through the silence of her living room.

She enjoys the momentary bliss that comes from knowing that somewhere out there, this man and his daughter are living a life, filled with smiles, giggles and family before she forces her fingers to close the notebook again. She feels the smile slowly dissolving from her lips and her eyes shift downwards before she stacks the book back into her bag.

This is his personal life, these are his memories, things that are important to him, and she really should try and find a way to give this book back to him.

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Thanks for reading and for your reviews! I don't know what I think about this myself, but I really hope you liked it!

**Tumblr: **dancingontiptoes

**Twitter: **AlyssaLucyAnne


	3. Chapter 3

She's not even surprised that he has a file in the police database. Having read a couple (okay maybe a lot) of articles about him, she knows that he is what people might call a bad boy. So she isn't all that taken aback when she sees that he has been charged with stealing and riding a police horse- naked. This is only part of the things that are mentioned in the file and somehow the charges are partially so weird she can't stifle the laugh that escapes her lips upon reading that he actually stole a cow once and left it up on his high school's roof, what is it with this man and stealing animals anyways?

It's around 2pm and the bullpen is almost empty. Most of her colleagues have left for a lunch break and besides her and Royce there are only two other people currently occupying the floor.

She enjoys the silence of these rare moments, the almost eery quiet that is only occasionally interrupted by the clatter of a keyboard or the shuffling through papers and documents.

It is the first warm day of the year, 94 degrees and the sort of heat that rests upon your head like a thick and heavy blanket you can't seem to shake off, it's suffocating even and has people hiding in their houses or the safety of an air-freshened shop or cafe. It's the sort of heat that creeps into every last corner, fills up everything with its immense ardency and maybe that is precisely the reason the day has been so uncommonly calm; because even the criminals are unable to oppose the sudden heat wave.

She leans back in her chair, closer to the brimming air freshener in her back and enjoys the cool breeze for a second before she turns her attention back to her computer, back to his file and back to his address beaming from the bright screen.

He lives in lower Manhattan, Corner of Broome and Crosby. She knows the area, for countless parties had brought her to this part of the city and she thinks that somehow it fits him perfectly as she quickly scribbles the address down on the backside of her Starbuck's receipt.

She hears the remote ding of the elevator to her right, opening to a man, dressed in a black suit and tie, stepping out. He is almost bald, and seems to be of Puerto Rican background and she watches the way Royce steps up to greet this man, observes the way they are shaking hands, before they move behind the closed doors of the break room.

It's only about two minutes before she hears Royce calling for her from the now opened door.

"Beckett, Captain Roy Montgomery would like to talk to you."

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She observes the typical red checked table cloths, counting the rows and the amount of red and white checks over and over again, busying herself with this task as if her life depended on it.

There are 65 red checks and 64 white ones in the first row. Maybe she'll start going through the diagonals next.

The diner is well occupied. A family is seated at the table next to hers. A mother and three children, two of them playing with the ketchup and fries, playing tic-tac-toe with it on the table cloths, while the mother is busy trying to get them to stop and simultaneously persuading the small boy in the highchair to eat his peas.

"Jessica please stop drawing on your brother's face will you?" the annoyance is basically seeping from her voice and Beckett quickly focuses her attention back to her own table, to the half empty glass of water placed in front of her, the bubbles bursting one by one as they reach the surface and the ice cubes nothing but small droplets of icy water, faint reminders of what has been there.

There are 130 red checks going diagonal from the upper right to bottom left corner and she wonders when he will finally show up.

Her head shoots up as the small golden bell over the door rings again, announcing someone's entrance, and this time, finally, it is him.

She raises her arm, waves in his direction, trying to call his attention over to her booth. It takes him a moment to notice her in the mass of people, but when their eyes finally meet she sees the smile lighting up his face, his lips quirking up almost immediately as he makes his way towards her.

"Hi Daddy" she says as she gets up from her booth, walking right into his open waiting arms.

"Hello Katie" his voice is a whisper close to her ear, his breath soft on her chin and for a moment she just takes in the smell of him, the way he smells of coffee, aftershave and detergent and she revels in the fact that the smell of alcohol, of cheap liquors and vodka is finally purified from his scent, revels in the fact that she finally has her father back.

After a short moment they both get seated across from each other, and Kate sees the pride beaming in her father's eyes upon looking at her. She shifts along the bench, looking out for the waitress to get her father something to drink as well, yet still feeling his gaze settled upon her, feeling the way her father's piercing blue eyes are observing her intently.

They do small talk mostly until the waitress arrives with Jim's water, discuss the weather, the sudden heat wave followed by nightly storms, he tells her about his work, his cases and his co-workers, they talk about baseball and whether they should go see a game some time. It is nice and it is easy and it is definitely not what she has called him here for.

"So Katie" he narrows his eyes as he looks at her "Why did you call me here? I am sure it's not just to ask me about work and baseball so… what's on your mind?"

She swallows deeply. She still hasn't really comprehended the events of the past couple hours, is still torn between the flutters of excitement, the allure of a new challenge ahead and the twirls of fear. Because what if she isn't ready, what if she really can't do this?

"Daddy I got a job offer today" her eyes focus on the table cloth again. 65 red checks in the first row, 130 diagonal. "I can start at the 12th precinct, homicide" she feels her father's eyes trained on her, listening intently, silently asking her to go on "They want me to start next month"

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She's about read to leave, the notebook stacked away in her purse. She wears Jeans, Heels and a classic and casual black pullover under her leather jacket.

It doesn't matter, why is this so important? But she can't help but check her make up again. Is the eyeliner too high up? She really needs to get a grip on herself, she'll only go by real quick, give him back his book and leave. In and out. He's probably not even going to remember her. Should she wear lipstick?

Her hand is already on the door handle, about to open it when she notices the small pieces of paper lying almost underneath her couch on the floor. She frowns in confusion and releases the door once more to make her way over to the small white paper and picks it up. It is filled with the scribbled handwriting she now recognizes immediately. It his written by him. It must have fallen out of the notebook when she had been flipping through the pages earlier this week.

_Bring Alexis to Meredith for shopping at 2pm. _The small note is crossed out with two single black lines, just like the change of time scribbled next to it.

_3pm _– crossed out, the lines wavy this time.

_4pm_- crossed out in loopy circles, and from the way the dark ink seems to be even darker, and the way the lines are just a little bit thicker than the others, she guesses that they have been scribbled upon the paper with a little more force.

_5pm_- crossed out. It is the last appointment written down and it is crossed out with a single black line.

Written underneath it all, and she can't really tell at which point it had been written down, there is a small note. It's the first real and personal bit she reads, the first note that is purely and only him, and she can feel the sadness resonating from those few words.

_What do you tell your daughter when she asks you why mummy doesn't want to spend time with her anymore and whether it is because she doesn't lover her anymore?_

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How is it, that even his damn lobby is intimidating? She's a cop for god's sake, she shouldn't be so nervous; yet here she is, fidgeting with her fingers, smoothing down her pullover again and again and running her fingers through her hair like a teenager right before her first date.

She's standing next to the entrance door, soaking wet because of course it had to start raining and of course she didn't bring an umbrella and of course she is now standing in this huge lobby, with a marmoreal floor and a fancy reception and a doorman, and is dripping rainwater onto the clean tiles.

Her hair is attached to her face, sticking to her skin like it has been glued there and she can only imagine the way her mascara must look underneath her eyes, long black streaks running down both of her cheeks and she really just wants to turn around immediately, turn around, leave this house and go home, maybe cuddle up in front of her television and just come back later.

But his words are still echoing through her mind. His beautiful, beautiful words, filled with so much she can't even explain and they are still swirling through her mind, fragments of the man that lives in this building, only 4 floors away from her, with his little daughter and she knows that this book is something important to him and also that, having seen his building now, she would never be able to gather the courage to come back here again to give it to him.

So she moves over to the elevator, ignoring the strange looks she receives all around and presses the arrow that points upwards.

She tries to clean herself up in the elevator a bit, tries to at least erase the imprints of the mascara left on her skin and sort through the thick, wet curtain that is her hair. But soon enough the obnoxious bright lights above the doors announce the 4th floor and she has to get out, out into a hallway that looks more expensive than her old dorm room in college.

The door opens not even a minute after ringing for the first time, and there he is, standing right in front of her, clad in a grey shirt and basic jeans, smiling at her with this smile she has only ever seen on the backsides of his books.

She realizes she is staring, but sort of can't help herself but blink at him a couple of times, completely perplexed that he is actually real, standing in front of her right now and is somehow terribly aware of the fact that she is dripping on the red curtain the floor is laid out with.

"Can I help you somehow?" his voice is deep, a little husky and somehow it finally pulls her out of her trance.

"Yes I'm…" How is she supposed to introduce herself anyways? "I'm Kate…" should she say more? Is it important? He is smiling at her and she can hear herself say "Beckett…" there is a small moment of silence "Detective"

She cringes at the way her voice sounds, all giddy and excited and the rambling- good job there Kate, really. He's laughing lightly, still smiling at her with a mixture of kind amusement and confusion and she remembers why she came here in the first place.

"I found this" she scrambles around her purse, pulls out the notebook and hands it in his direction. "On the train and thought I'd give it back"

Castle takes the notebook from her, observing in the woman standing in front of him now, the woman that had gone through the trouble of figuring out his address just in order to give him back his notebook.

She is beautiful, oh so very beautiful even though she is completely dripping wet. Her makeup has been washed away mostly, only faint black marks under her eyes remind of the mascara she must have worn previously. Her hair is starting to curl from the wetness and she is shivering ever so slightly, arms pulled close to her sides in a futile attempt to gather some warmth. She is gorgeous, stunningly beautiful standing there in front of him, green eyes, slim waist and killer hells. She is so adorably nervous, yet somehow keeping her posture, standing tall and upright, shoulders back and jaw set and he hears himself saying the words before he actually understands what he is doing.

"You wanna come in?" seriously Rick? That's how you're going to invite her in? She doesn't even know you "I mean, to get some dry clothes and wait out the rain?"

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**AN: **I had actually planned to end this at this point, with them meeting. I really enjoy writing this story though so there will probably be some more chapters…


	4. Chapter 4

She is in Richard freaking Castle's living room, standing next to his couch, the water dropping from her drenched clothes collecting in a small puddle to her feet. She can hear him rummaging around a closet in a room behind the huge shelves filled with books of all sorts. She still can't quite wrap her mind around the fact that he is currently in there looking for dry clothes for her to wear, because apparently she is going to spend some time in his loft, waiting out the rain and somehow she isn't entirely sure whether she wants the rain to stop immediately or never.

She walks up to his book shelf, tilts her head sideways so she can read the titles of his books. There's a lot by Stephen King, Edgar Allan Poe and Raymond Chandler, books over books about murder, mayhem and mystery, most of which she has read as well.

"I got you a pair of tights from my mother which should fit, and one of my hoodies" he's walking out of what seems to be his study and halts only for a moment to look at her, standing in front of his books before he moves over to hand her the clothes.

"You can get changed in there" he points back over his shoulder towards the room she has made out to be his study.

"Thanks" it's but a mere whisper and she scolds herself for it before she gives him a small smile and walks over to the opened to door to enter his office.

It's huge. Walls filled with book shelves that reach up unto the ceiling, his desk placed in the middle of the room on a white rug. She lets her eyes travel across the room, takes in the piece of art hung on the wall behind his desk showing a seemingly endless staircase, the antique typewriter sitting on one of the shelves and the bucket in the corner that for some reason is filled with fencing swords.

She lets herself look around some more when she starts to undress, ridding herself from the wet clothes sticking to her skin to replace them with the warm and dry clothes he has given her.

The tights fit her perfectly, in the size that is, otherwise there probably is no pair of tights that would be less fitting for Detective Beckett. It is a mixture of leopard and zebra print, colored in bright red and blue and she looks down her legs doubtfully before she puts on the hoodie. It is way too big for her, hanging loose somewhere close to her knees, but it is warm and comfy, the fabric soft on her skin and it smells like coffee and something slightly darker she can't quite place.

She grabs the pile of wet clothes to her feet before she makes her way over to the door again, halts at the door knob for a second before she enters his living room again, a living room that is now filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

* * *

The coffee is good. Soothing, warm and oh so very welcome. She drinks in small sips, savors the flavor of it, of coffee, steamed milk and the remote taste of vanilla that starts to warm her up from the inside.

Both of her hands are wrapped around the blue cup, his hoodie drawn over her wrists up until the knuckles of her fingers as she sits on one of his bar stools, watching him shuffling around the kitchen, apparently searching for something.

He started rambling about the rain when she had sat down and is still discussing the weather in a nervous monologue that is just so utterly adorable that can't help smiling into her coffee mug. Because who knew, that Detective Katherine Beckett had the ability to make Richard Castle nervous to a state where the bestselling author was reduced to nervous ramblings in the middle of his kitchen.

"You want some cookies?" he slides the package filled with cookies along the counter towards her and she catches them just before they were about to topple over the edge and places them next to her coffee mug, about to say something when she hears a small voice coming from the top of the stairs, a voice that judging from the sound of it is coming from a little girl, that appears on top of the stairs only a second after. She's wearing a purple and blue striped pullover over a pair of black tights that are covered by fuzzy socks drawn up almost underneath her kneecaps.

"I can't find the chamber of secrets"

She sees Castle nodding at her earnestly, preparing for a serious answer to his daughter's serious problem.

"Only the true heir of Slytherin can" she smiles slightly as she sees the little girl giving him a look, a look that as she imagines is being passed at him at least a couple of times a day, a look filled with fake annoyance before the girl rolls her eyes dramatically and speaks again.

"I mean the book"

"Check in the living room"

His daughter hops down the stairs and only then seems to notice the presence of the woman sitting at the kitchen counter. Beckett smiles at her shyly and raises her hand in a somewhat awkward wave.

"Hi"

Alexis skips over to them, bounces on her heels a moment before extracting her hand towards the Detective sitting on the stool.

"Hi, I'm Alexis" Kate takes the offered hand and gives the small palm that is completely enveloped in hers a gentle squeeze.

"I'm Kate" the small glance over to her father is minimal, almost unnoticeable, probably from years of training that has allowed the two of them to communicate quickly, without words, yet the Detective catches the brief look, the unspoken conversation, between a father and his daughter checking whether the strange woman sitting at the kitchen counter was okay, a friend or not, and judging from the small nod Castle directs at his daughter she is the prime.

"I'll go read The Prisoner of Azkaban until I find the Chamber of Secrets now" Alexis says cheerfully and turns around to leave the two of them alone again.

"You can't do that" The fake shock is practically radiating from Castle's voice as he scolds his daughter playfully "You can't just mess up the order!"

"Well, I'm a rebel, daddy, you know that" Alexis laughs, climbing up the stairs.

Castle shakes his head at her, eyes wide, before he sighs in disappointment.

"That's like skipping to the last page to see who the murder is, you know that right?" His objection is ignored by his daughter, who is now standing at the top of the stairs.

"It was nice meeting you, Kate"

"You too, Alexis" Kate smiles at her before the girl returns back into her room, ready to mess up a sacred book order.

She smiles to herself for a moment before she turns around to face the father once again. He is smiling at her brightly, blue eyes sparkling and crinkling around the edges and she can't help but smile back upon seeing him so obviously proud of his daughter.

"She's adorable" Castle's smile grows impossibly wider at her words before he responds. "She is."

* * *

"So Kate" he finally moves around the counter himself and takes a seat next to her "You said you're a detective?" She turns slightly, facing him once again, where he is seated next to her, so close and so real and she actually has to resist the temptation of reaching out to touch him just to make sure of that.

"I will be" he looks at her with those blue eyes, eyes with actual interest shining in them and although she can't imagine why the hell Richard Castle should be interested in her life she goes on "I got a job offer this week, I'll start at the 12th precinct in a couple of weeks"

"What department?"

"Homicide" he seems impressed with her answer, which for some reason pleases her greatly and they settle into a small moment of silence, which has the both of them taking lazy sips of coffee and listening to the rain and traffic coming from the outside, before she starts speaking again. Her words now are spoken with reluctance, with a distinct uncertainty about whether she actually wants to ask or rather keep it quiet.

"So, you're a writer" it's not even a question and they both know it.

"You read my books" she takes a sip of her coffee again, before she shrugs, letting him wait a couple of seconds more before answering.

"I might have read one or two" he smiles at that, nods musingly with his forefinger tracing his chin dimple, deep in thought- apparently.

"Did you like them?"

"They were okay" she purses her lips in the futile attempt to suppress the smile tucking at the corners of her mouth.

She watches him raise his eyebrows ever so slightly, the small smile still playing on his lips before he reaches out for the notebook on the counter and starts twisting and turning it around in between his fingers for a good while without saying anything else.

"You read this?" she chokes on her coffee at his words, the scalding hot liquid burning down her throat as she starts coughing. She hears the faint sound of a strangled laugh coming from him, before she feels his hand padding her back until the fit of couch is over, leaving her breathing a little heavy and her face flushed in a bright red.

"I…."

He chuckles lightly at her obvious embarrassment before he interrupts her.

"Kate, it's fine, really, don't worry about it"

"I flipped through it and read a couple of pages, I…" she trips over her sentences, flounders over her words before she feels his warm palm being placed on her upper arm, his fingers squeezing gently, effectively shutting her up.

"It's okay, Kate" he laughs, and she finally takes a deep breath and nods at him.

"Although…." His voice trails into nothingness, faking to be distracted by the looks of his kitchen cupboards and she raises her eyebrow at him.

"You know, there is this book party this weekend" she feels the smile blossoming on her face as she realizes where this is going and quickly replaces it with a look of mock innocence.

"Oh… okay?" she flutters her eyelashes at him.

"Yeah and you know" he turns the cup in his hands "Those parties…are just so boring"

"Uh-huh?"

"Yeah, just some boring writers discussing who wrote more books and who got more reviews by the New York Ledger, it's deadly boring"

"That's too bad" she's wrapping strands of her hair around her finger now, playing with it while still somehow managing to keep up her mask of indifference and fake innocence.

"Well…" he turns around to look at her again, the corners of his mouths twitching with the held back laughter begging to be freed.

"Having a date would make that night _so_ much better" he releases a long and heavy sigh, looking down onto the counter now and she has to give him that, if he weren't an author he would make one hell of an actor.

"I could ask one of my friends to go with you" she hears his huffed laugh at her response and she closes her eyes for a split second to gather her composure again.

"Or maybe you could come" he shrugs "You owe me after all"

"Oh and why is that?"

"Well you have read my innermost thoughts and invaded my privacy by reading this" he holds up the notebook as if it were the key element of evidence in court "So I guess it's only fair that you have to suffer through hours of boredom with me, don't you think?"

She almost laughs, can't stifle the smile blossoming on her lips anymore, and she doesn't want to either.

"Well, I guess you are right about that, Mister Castle"

* * *

**Thanks for reading and thank you all for your reviews, I love hearing your thoughts on my stories and really appreciate the effort!3**


	5. Chapter 5

Her stupid hands shake a little as she puts on her shoes, betraying her mind in the futile attempt to uphold the illusion that of course she isn't nervous. This whole thing, not a big deal.

She walks over to the mirror in her bathroom. The sink underneath it is scattered with makeup and eyeliners and every other, little skin care product that is in her possession. She leans forward to check her appearance for what has got to be the 20th time this evening.

She still has ten more minutes, ten more minutes before he is going to arrive at her apartment to take her to a book party she has no idea what to expect of.

What if she isn't wearing the right dress?

Why the hell did she agree to this in the first place?

She picks up the powder from the sink again, takes a brush and applies some of it on her cheeks. It's completely unnecessary but somehow she needs to keep busy, do something, anything to stop her mind from traveling to whatever this night might bring with it, because the more she thinks about it, the more she believes that this is in fact a stupid idea, ridiculous even.

She can't be Richard Castle's date to a book party. She just can't.

She leans forward again, not really sure what she is even checking anymore. She still looks the same as five seconds ago and she glares at her reflection in the mirror, at the stupid wide eyes looking at her like a scared puppy in a thunder storm. It is just a party Kate, pull yourself together.

She's not usually like this, this whole demeanor completely untypical. Her exterior is usually well put together, hard, cold at times even, never like this, never this insecure, especially not about her appearance and she can't help but hate him a little bit for turning her back into a teenage girl, worrying about whether she looks good enough for a stupid boy.

"You can do this" she whispers at herself, eyes still fixated on her own in the mirror and she gives herself a small, determined nod.

You can do this.

There is a knock on the door, the sound effectively tearing her back into reality and she glances at herself in the mirror one last time, nods curtly, takes a deep breath and moves over to open the door.

You can do this.

* * *

He's been standing in front of her door for about five minutes now, his fist half raised, hanging in the air, about ready to knock. He will be late without actually being late just because he was too scared to knock on a damn door.

Pull yourself together Richard.

His tux is itching around the collar, so he starts tugging at it, tries to rid it a little from his neck. He hates this tux, can't remember why he decided to wear it in the first place.

Right. Alexis.

He should have known better than to allow his nine year old daughter to pick his outfit for the night. But her eyes had been so huge, her lips in this all too adorable pout so he couldn't bring himself to say no to her.

They had tried out all of his different suits and tuxes until around the 25th one, which she had finally determined as _the one. _So he had kept it on, cleaned the matching shoes and hadn't questioned his daughter's decision although he had never especially liked this one, and hadn't asked until about five minutes before leaving why she had actually picked this one.

"You look like a penguin in it, Daddy"

Yes, because looking like a penguin had been his ambition for the night.

But his daughter had just giggled upon seeing the expression in his eyes and hid behind the kitchen counter and it really had been too late to change again, so he decided that if anyone could pull off looking like a penguin, it would be him and had left.

His hands move to the bow tie at the collar on their own accord, start tugging at the fabric in order to loosen it up a bit, try to ease the tightness of the knot so that he doesn't feel like it's about to choke him any time soon.

Are bow ties supposed to sit this tight?

He tries to conjure images of Matt Smith in front of his inner eye, tries to remember how exactly the bow tie looked on the 11th doctor. Did it look like this or is he doing something wrong? Then again technically the Doctor wasn't wearing a tux so maybe he isn't the best source of reference, and really why is he comparing himself to a Time Lord now?

He smoothens down his jacket one last time, fixes invisible creases and straightens the collar.

Come on Richard, you look like a mixture of a penguin and Doctor Who, what could possibly go wrong?

And then he knocks, his fist colliding with the hard wood, resulting in a loud sound that sounds way more confident than he feels right now.

Seriously why couldn't he have just asked for a normal date, a dinner or movie but not this. What if this will just scare her off?

Before his thoughts can get too carried away the door opens. He feels his mouth dropping, forming a perfect o shape and he finds himself reduced to staring at the woman in front of him, his mind void of all ability to form a coherent sentence. Because god she is way too beautiful.

She's wearing a black, strapless dress that reaches down to the floor and flows with her curves perfectly. Her hair is open, her chestnut curls tumbling over both of her shoulders and seriously how is she even real?

"Hi" she says, it's simple, her voice maybe a little shy and it's perfect.

"Hi" they take a while to just look at each other before he offers her his arm.

"Shall we then?" she takes it, links her slender one with his and smiles up at him, her lips curling upwards only slightly, into this gorgeous smile that could make the world fall apart.

"Let's go"

* * *

She exits the limo to something resembling a red carpet, except it's blue and way more terrifying than what she's seen on television.

It is lit with round light bulbs to both sides, illuminating and guiding the way in the breaking darkness of the night, and ends in front of an opened door.

It's just a freaking carpet you have to walk over, what the hell is wrong with you?

Yet she stands unmoving, staring at the carpet as if it were the pavement to some sort of hell before she notices the driver, who is looking at her kind of agitated and urges her to finally step away from the vehicle so he can close the door. So she takes one small, hesitant step to the side, unsure whether she can trust her legs at the moment, when she feels Castle's presence by her side.

He's stepping in front of her, between the entrance and herself, shielding her from the view of the awaiting people standing behind the fences at the carpet. She looks up to find him looking at her, something like tender concern shining in his eyes, intermingled with an expression that could only be described as shyness. It's only then that she realizes he is nervous too, but of what she isn't sure.

"You okay?" it's a mere whisper, way too silent to be heard by anyone other than herself, and in that moment she realizes that if she said she couldn't do this, he would just take her back, no questions, no accusations, no blame, he would just get back in that car with her and drive her back home and maybe they would sit down on the couch and watch a movie or something and somehow that knowledge lets her take a deep breath again and soothes the fluttering of anxiety in her stomach.

"Yeah" her senses expand beyond her slightly panicked haze now and she takes in the photographers waiting at the sides, the people discussing, writers, publishers, and even bystanders and seriously why did he not tell her that this would be such a big deal? "I'm good yeah"

She feels his fingertips on the back of her hand, his touch tentative, hesitant and barely there, a mere breath of warmth dancing on her skin, light enough to be ignored but present enough to be detected, giving her the chance to pull away if that's what she wants but letting her know that he's there as well.

She glances at him quickly and laces her fingers with his, interweaves her smaller one's with his, her eyes trained on the way they seem to fit together perfectly, the way her hand is almost completely enveloped in his as she grasps his fingers tightly, receiving a gentle squeeze back.

They are still not moving and she realizes that he is waiting for her to make the first move, gives her the time to figure things out on her own and decide when she is ready to face the crowd. She feels warmth unfurl in her lower stomach as she looks up at him, feels the way it spreads out until it reaches her face and breaks her lips into a small smile, directed at him. He is still observing her intently, waiting for any sign that will tell him that either they will have to turn around and leave, or that she is ready to move towards the building in front of them.

He notices the transformation immediately. Notices the way she straightens her back, sets her jaw and the way the slightly unsure expression is replaced with something else entirely. Something fierce, determined and suddenly he gets a very clear image of her as a Detective, of the tough and badass Detective Kate Beckett.

She takes the first step towards the carpet, tugging on their still entwined hands to drag him forwards before she casts him a look over her shoulder.

"You comin Castle?" she smirks slightly, eyes glowing and eyebrow raised at him and he can't help but smile back at her, nod and then follow her to enter the blue carpet.

* * *

He didn't lie. Except for the quick rush of walking over the carpet, blinded by the flashing lights from the photographers and the fleeting moment of nervousness there is nothing exceptionally exciting about this party.

The room is filled with well-dressed, elegant people. Women in long dresses, laughing with opened mouths, displaying their rows of perfect, white teeth, cocktail glasses in hand, popping olives into their pouting mouths.

The men are wearing suits or tuxes, talking as if this truly were about business and not about who was the richest and most successful. She actually finds it kind of entertaining to watch the gossip unfold in the women's conversation and the bragging in the men's. Entertaining yet also surreal, and she can't help but glace over at Castle who is making small talk with a man she thinks she's supposed to know, but can't quite place.

He doesn't seem to fit in all of this, or maybe he just doesn't because she sees him a little differently now. She has read quite a few articles about him, about the playboy he seems to be but can't quite manage to get those two men to coincide. The womanizer and the father, the rich author and the passionate writer, the man in the newspaper and the one holding her hand tightly.

When the man standing with them finally leaves she hears the silent sigh escaping Castle's lips and looks up at him to flash him a sympathetic smile.

"You wanna get a drink?" his question comes almost immediately.

She nods "Yeah vodka, lots of vodka"

Because there is no way in hell she is going to survive the luring looks of all those women, their collective eyes on her, commenting her every move without being at least a little bit drunk.

He opens his mouth to reply something, but she is already heading towards the bar and so he follows. Because it seems that with Kate Beckett he doesn't really have a choice.

She orders two Vodka Martini's takes great pleasure in saying shaken not stirred to the bar man and can see Castle smirking at her order before they both get seated on the soft bar stools.

Their drinks arrive only seconds later and they both take an appreciative sip before he turns his attention back to her again, looks at her sitting on the stool next to him, so beautiful and stunning before he notices the not so subtle looks they are receiving from a group of women in the middle of the room; their prying eyes and unbridled whisperings obviously directed at them, obviously surrounding the topic of Richard Castle and that woman they have never seen before.

"You wanna get out of here?"

She chokes on her drink a little bit. He seriously has got to stop and ask her bold questions when she is drinking.

"How" her reply is still a little breathy and she cocks her head at him, curious and a little confused. "Aren't you supposed to be here?"

"Oh it's not that big of a deal really, and there is a staff entrance at the back, no one would even notice." He takes a moment to reconsider "Well, except for those women over there "he points towards the group of women she had already detected as well "They will probably start spinning theories as soon as we leave this bar, but-" he turns back to her "the good news is, they talk about everything and everyone, so whether we leave now or stay, the talk would be the same"

She laughs at that a little, because looking back to those women, to the way they conspicuously stare at them she knows he's right.

"So where do you wanna go?"

"You know Remy's is open all night" she looks at him, surprised that he actually knows the small restaurant she has spent countless nights in.

"They have those burgers" he raises his eyebrow at her, breathes in deeply at the thought of real food, and not just those tiny nibbles they have here.

"Oh and those shakes" she releases a dreamy sigh, because honestly just the thought of Remy's strawberry shakes makes her crave them fiercely.

He gets up from his stool, offers his arm to her once again and she hesitates only for a moment before she shrugs and takes it.

"Oh why not"

* * *

They are seated across from each other at a table next to an opened window. There is soft music playing somewhere outside, carried to them on a soft breeze, the humming tunes swirling in the velvet darkness outside the windows, dancing gracefully in the shadows of the night, silent cadences ascertained by the wind.

They look kind of odd, stick out from the average people sitting in the booths around them, eating hamburgers and fries. He's still wearing the pristine white shirt and the bowtie, and looks entirely too handsome to be here right now. His jacket has found its way over to her shoulders, where he has placed it on their way to the small restaurant to protect her from the uncommonly cold night. She's slipped into the sleeves, has them rolled up until right underneath her elbows and it still seems to envelope her slender frame completely, hangs loose around her curves and covers most of her dress as well. She's not even that cold anymore, though she enjoys the feeling of the soft satin on her bare skin, the feeling of his jacket wrapped around her like a safety blanket, so even though she doesn't need it anymore, she leaves it on.

"She said you look like a penguin?"

"Yes she did, but I think I can pull it off, don't you?"

The laughter spills from her lips easily, carries through the silent air like colored leaves on the autumn wind, it's natural and simple. And it's easy being around him, being in his presence- easier than she would have expected.

She tells him about Royce, about that one time she bailed him out by showing the criminal her boobs, and notices the not so subtle look her cleavage receives upon telling that story, she smirks and quickly leans forward to snip her fingers against his chin, laughing at the expression on his face.

"Eyes up bud"

She looks at him, suddenly very aware of how close she is to his face and stares into his eyes, momentarily caught in the infinite blue before she breaks away and drops back down on her bench, slowly enough to hear him mutter silently under his breath.

"One lucky criminal" she bites back the smile threatening to break free again, stifles back the laugh bubbling up her throat and she relishes it, revels in this feeling, in those small sensations low in her stomach, the tiny sparkles bursting to break free- happiness.

Their order arrives a couple of minutes later. Burgers, fries and shakes, all spread out in front of them and they immediately start eating, and she hears him humming when he takes a bite of his burger.

She leans over to steal two of his fries, raises her eyebrows, daring him to stop her as she takes a slow, seductive bite of them. He feigns outrage at her actions, widens his eyes, and shakes his head, pretends to care when of course he doesn't. How could he, when there is so much joy in her eyes, so much playfulness. Things he didn't expect and doesn't take for granted.

"So..." He leans back against the back rest of his bench and looks at her "Why did you become a cop?"

The smile drops from her face at the question, and she looks at him kind of shocked. She didn't expect this question to come up this early and she is still contemplating on how to answer him when he starts speaking again.

"I mean don't take this the wrong way, but usually women like you don't become cops. They become lawyers or judges but not cops" he looks kind of sheepish explaining himself and it's adorable.

"Women like me?" she pops up one eyebrow, narrows her eyes at him and shakes her head slightly, as she gives him a fake offended look.

"Yeah you know, those breathtakingly beautiful women"

He says it like it's nothing, like it's a fact, obvious to the world, like she's supposed to know that too. And judging from the look on his face, from the expression in the soft blue of his eyes, she knows that he means it, that he truly thinks she's beautiful and she feels herself blushing at his words, her cheeks taking on a soft pink color; rose and delicate and she ducks her head upon seeing the smile lighting up his face at her silent response to his words.

"I was studying pre-law" she replies eventually. He seems impressed and she shrugs a little, like it's no big deal.

"So it was your dream to argue cases in front of the supreme-court" he muses and nods, like everything makes a lot of sense now.

"Yeah, I was on my way to become the first female chief justice" she smiles this adorable, slightly dorky smile and bites her bottom lip, pulls it in ever so slightly as she wriggles her eyebrows at him.

"So why didn't you?" she knows she should have seen this question coming, should have expected him to dig deeper and ask all those questions she wishes to avoid, but she didn't and so she takes a moment to formulate the words in her head.

"My mom was killed" she answers eventually, decides that he is allowed to know and tries not to let the still burning ache in her chest seep into her words, tries to bury the clawing desperation deep within her. She's been over this and she has decided to let this go. So why does it still hurt to speak those words, why does she still feel like she is drowning when they escape her lips?

There is a moment of silence in which she has her eyes fixated on the table in front of her, her hands playing with the salt shaker in front of her, her grip on the small frame tight, tight enough to have her knuckles turn white as she twists and turns it in her fingers. The air is filled with the soft rhythm of a Coltrane song now, smooth saxophone music that makes her loosen her grip at least a little bit.

She feels one of his fingers at the back of her hand, soft pressure that stills her frantic movements and has her looking up at him, up into his so impossibly blue eyes.

Surprisingly enough she doesn't fine pity in them, only deep admiration and respect, compassion, but not that look she has seen oh so many times. At her mother's funeral, at every family gathering since then, at every encounter with an old friend, the look that says _I don't know what to say to you, so I'll go with sorry and now can we please not talk about it, _a look that tells her that she is weak, pathetic, that tells her that they fear she is going to break right there in front of their eyes, a look that has made her sick so many times.

His eyes instead tell her something different entirely, tell her of a deep admiration, and the fierce strength he seems to find in her heart, his eyes look at her as if she could never be anything other than a living miracle and somehow with just that simple look the tight knot that has formed in her stomach starts to loosen up bit by bit.

She smiles at him then, a brittle smile, the corners of her mouth only barely gracing upwards, but he sees is nonetheless, sees the genuine gratitude shimmering in her eyes and he starts tracing her fingers with his index finger, traces the features of her clasped fingers on the table. When she doesn't pull away, even lets go of the tight grip she has on the salt shaker and opens her palms ever so slightly he gets bolder, sneaks his hand into hers and replaces the salt shaker with his own hand.

Her hand is cold in his, still tense and he starts drawing soft circles on the back of her hand, a soothing pattern that has her relax into his hold.

"What happened?" he asks, choosing his words carefully, his voice hesitant, cautious around this subject, unsure about how far he is allowed to go.

"We were supposed to meet for dinner, my mom, my dad and I" her eyes flutter downwards again, back to the table and onto their intertwined hands "But she never showed, so we went home and found a Detective waiting for us" he sees the silent tears rising up in her eyes and wishes so badly to be able to take them away, to take all of this pain away from her.

"Detective Raglan" she shakes her head a little "They found her body, she had been stabbed" she purses her lips for a moment, swallows and wills the tears to just go away.

"A robbery" he doesn't ask it as a question but she shakes her head at him.

"No" her voice quivers slightly and she takes another shaky breath "She still had her money and purse and it wasn't a sexual assault either" her voice trails into nothingness and she bites her lip for a second.

"They attributed it to gang violence and the killer was never caught" her voice has grown impossibly more silent, merely a fragile whisper now and she looks up at him again, at his big, blue eyes that hold so much empathy for her, that hurt for her so much and that understand her pain.

"So you became a cop to find whoever did this" his fingers squeeze the smaller one's between them.

"Yes" she nods.  
"So did you?"

She's silent for a moment, a small, sad half-smile on her lips.

"No" her voice is so small "I tried to for years but there was nothing. No leads, no suspects. Nothing. So I tried harder and worked harder but I just couldn't find who did this" the words start to pour from her lips faster and faster and she focuses on breathing for a moment to gather her composure again.

"I realized that I was losing myself, that I let my past control my life and I just couldn't live like that anymore, so I put it behind me"

His lips part slightly before he nods. His thumb still stroking the back of her hand.

"So" she swallows before she looks up again, smiles at him halfheartedly and tries to purge her eyes from the deep sadness still lingering in them "as an author, was that what you thought my story would be?"

She sees him smiling slightly at the question.

"Well, it was either that or Hooker by night, Cop by day"

She feels the laugh falling from her lips, a beautiful sound that takes her completely off guard and she meets his eyes over the table, squeezes the hand that is still holding hers.

Because maybe for the first time in her life, someone has managed to make her laugh despite the sadness in her soul, someone has listened to her story without reducing her to a sad, little girl with a tragic backstory and for the first time someone has eased the pain in her heart, at least a little bit.

* * *

**AN: **Thank you for all of your support, I love reading your reviews and comments to this story!


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